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Ptolus - In the Shadow of the Spire

IN THE SHADOW OF THE SPIRE

SESSION 14A: MANY UNHAPPY RETURNS

January 5th, 2008
The 3rd Day of Kadal in the 790th Year of the Seyrunian Dynasty

They returned to the surface just as the sun was slipping behind the Spire. They walked home in the Spire’s shadow, arriving as true evening fell and Ptolus’ second dusk began.

They weren’t sure when they had begun to think of the Ghostly Minstrel as home, but as they washed their bloody clothes and bodies in the stables, that’s how they thought of it. And all of them were looking forward to a long and well-deserved sleep in their own beds.

Ptolus - The Ghostly MinstrelBut before they could get there, Tee voiced a thought that was on many of their minds: “We need to talk.”

“Can it wait until morning?” Elestra asked. “Breakfast?”

Tee shook her head. “No. We need to talk now.”

They retired to Elestra’s room – the room that had once been Agnarr’s. Once the door was shut behind them, Tee turned to face Elestra: “What happened down there… That can’t happen again. You nearly got us all killed.”

“It’s not that simple,” Elestra protested. “My snake—“

“It is that simple. That door had to be closed. Agnarr knew it. And you kept opening it.”

Agnarr nodded, and then Tor joined in: “And this isn’t the first time. This is life and death. You have to be focused. If you ever put us in that situation again, I’ll kill you myself.”

“I don’t know about that,” Tee said.

“Better one of us than all of us,” Tor said bluntly. “Dominic can always heal her wounds if we survive.”

Tee didn’t have a response for that. She turned back to Elestra. “Look, you say you care about your snake, but you keep sending it into dangerous situations. And its gets us all in trouble.”

“I understand that,” Elestra said. “But what am I supposed to do?” (more…)

Castle Blackmoor's Dungeons - Dave Arneson

Newer readers may not be familiar with my old Reactions to OD&D series. If you haven’t read them, you may want to check them out first. It’s been more than half a decade since I last visited the series, but a recent discussion prompted me to track down and dust off some old notes.

Dave Arneson’s First Fantasy Campaign was published by Judges Guild in 1977. It “attempted to show the development and growth of his campaign as it was originally conceived.” (For those unfamiliar with the early history of D&D, the campaign in question is Blackmoor: The original dungeon, city, and wilderness setting in which Arneson created modern roleplaying games, and which would eventually become Dungeons & Dragons.) In practice, sadly, it is a deeply flawed book. It’s a haphazard concordance of lightly edited campaign notes, and Arneson, unfortunately, is not First Fantasy Campaign - Dave Arnesonparticularly effective in explaining what many of these notes mean or how they were supposed to be used in actual play. The confusing nature of the book is heightened because its contents span both the original Blackmoor material (starting in 1970), revisions made to his home campaign after D&D was published in 1974, and further revisions made to the material in order to run it at conventions from 1975-77… and Arneson is rarely clear about exactly which material is which.

To take one small example, let’s consider the BLACKMOOR DUNGEONS section of the book. The material described here is literally Ground Zero for every single roleplaying game ever published (and, by extension, a huge percentage of pop culture, literature, and gaming over the past 50 years). Being able to get a glimpse into how Arneson actually ran those games would be an incredibly cool insight into a cultural watershed.

It’s frustrating, therefore, to discover that the First Fantasy Campaign makes it basically impossible to puzzle out what Arneson’s actual procedures were. I’ve spent an incredible amount of time pouring over this section of the book, and it remains a tantalizing enigma. I have, however, managed to work out a few details which I think others might find interesting.

Before we begin taking a close look at the text, however, it’s important to note a key point of context:

The Castle itself is still blank since it has been destroyed twice and rebuilt twice and then taken over by non-player Elves when the local adventurers were exiled. Thus, there are no sheets or goodies for it and only a sketch of its appearance. The Cavern sheet of Encounters is also lost (at least the first ones and the new one is in use). For these deletions I apologize.

The first six levels of encounters were prepared in the last two years for convention games, and set up along “Official” D&D lines. The last (7th – 9th and Tunnel Cavern System) are the originals used in our game. Additional crazy characters that got into the game over the years have been the Orcian Way and Sir Fang the Vampire.

(…)

Details on room, Cavern shapes for the Tunnel/Cave system have been lost or misplaced.

The first thing is that, as noted before, sections of Arneson’s notes as presented in the First Fantasy Campaign had been revised for convention play. This has, for better or worse, eradicated some amount of crucial information. The second is that the notes have also been partially (but not wholly) revised through actual play.  And the third is that Arneson has deliberately not included some of his notes because he’s still using them in actual play. So you can already see that there are multiple layers of obfuscation here, made worse by the fact that some material has simply been lost due to the passage of time.

With that being said, let’s take a look at what Arneson is able to give us:

First Fantasy Campaign - Dave Arneson(click for larger version)

The other obstacle we almost immediately encounter here is poor proofreading.

For example, Arneson lists Group I, Group II, and Group III for monsters. Later he says: “The Grouping of the Monsters were Level I for 1st and 2nd levels; Level III Creatures for 3rd and 4th levels, etc . . .” It seems fairly certain that “Level III” here should be read as “Level II”. One might initially conclude, both due to similarity of usage and the use of the capitalized term “Grouping”, that “Group I” and “Level I” are meant to be the same thing, but they are clearly not. (Balrogs on the 1st level of the dungeon would be an unusual design choice.)

Level I most likely refers to something equivalent to OD&D’s Monster Level Tables, so Arneson is saying to use the “Level I” (sic) tables for the 1st and 2nd level maps of Blackmoor. But if “Level I” and “Group I” aren’t the same thing, what are the Group listings used for? Ultimately, after going over the text several times, I’m forced to conclude that there simply isn’t any explanation given for why he created the Groups or what purpose they served. (Perhaps the order of the Groups was inverted and they ARE the same thing as the Levels, with Balrogs being Group III creatures instead of Group I?)

THE ARNESONIAN DUNGEON

Here’s what I think can be worked out with a fair degree of certainty. If you want to run Blackmoor in a style similar to how Arneson originally ran it:

1. You’ll need Level I, Level II, Level III, Level IV, and Level V monster tables.

  • 1st / 2nd level: Level I
  • 3rd / 4th level: Level II
  • 5th / 6th level: Level III
  • 7th / 8th level: Level IV
  • 9th / 10th level: Level V

These tables are not provided in the First Fantasy Campaign, but it’s likely that these were D10-based tables. (He writes “all dice throws were with 10-sided dice.” Although this appears as almost a non sequitur in the text, the only logical use of the D10s here would be on the monster tables.) To stock the tables, I would probably try to pull a full list of monsters appearing on the Blackmoor key and the anomalous “Group” listings and then distribute them appropriately. (You might also consider stocking all of the creatures found in Chainmail.)

2. You’ll need to pull the point values for creatures from Chainmail. (And “due to the addition of new Creatures beyond those given in Chainmail” create point values where necessary. Additional values might also be gleaned from other sections of the First Fantasy Campaign.)

3. There is a “magic protection point” encounter budget that is determined by the dungeon level:

  • 1st level: 5 points
  • 2nd level: 15 points
  • 3rd level: 15 points
  • 4th level: 25 points
  • 5th level: 35 points
  • 6th level: 40 points
  • 7th level: 50 points

(It feels extremely likely that the value listed for either the 2nd or 3rd level is a typo. I’m guessing the values should either be 10 & 15 or 15 & 20.)

4. For each room, roll an encounter chance:

  • 1st level: 1 in 6
  • 2nd level: 2 in 6
  • 3rd+ level: 3 in 6

5. If an encounter is rolled, roll 1d6 for a 1 in 6 chance that the room includes “a higher (stronger) creature”.

(By default, I would assume “stronger” just means “use the next Level monster table,”  but you might have some chance of using encounters from even stronger Level tables. There’s also “a chance that weaker creatures would be present”, but it’s not spelled out. It’s possible Arneson just winged that. You might also consider rolling 1d6 and using a weaker encounter on 1 and a stronger encounter on 6.)

6. Roll on the appropriate Level table, then purchase creatures of that type using the “magic protection point” budget. If you don’t have enough points, then either “reroll or place a weaker version of the creature within the room (extremely old or young).

(Arneson gives no indication for mixed encounter types. You might wish to do so: Perhaps generate No. Appearing using OD&D methods and then, if you have points left over, check for additional encounters in the same room. OTOH, Arneson’s keys and wandering encounters give no indication that he ever used encounters with mixed creature types.)

CONCLUDING THOUGHTS

It remains unclear whether this was a “restocking” procedure that Arneson used between sessions or if he randomly determined results during play as rooms were being explored. It has the feel of a during-play system, but look at the key for the 7th to 10th levels (the ones set up according to the original schema and not revised for post-D&D convention play):

Note that the “Protection in Points” entry doesn’t consistently list points; it also lists specific creatures which have been generated with those points. If these are the notes Arneson was running the adventure from, then he was using the Protection Point system to restock. (For more on re-stocking dungeons, see (Re-)Running the Megadungeon.)

On the other hand, look at the similar key given for the Glendower Dungeons:

First Fantasy Campaign - Glendower Dungeons - Dave ArnesonThose entries would appear to be the “Protection Point” or “Magic Point” values for those rooms, without the nature of that protection being predetermined. In the description of Loch Gloomen, Arneson also writes:

Defense of Area

30 – 180 Magic Points Creatures (two six-sided dice): 2) Giant; 3) True Trolls; 4) Roc; 5) Air Elemental; 6) Ogre; 7) Basilisk; 8) Goblins; 9) Ghouls; 10) Lycanthrope; 11) Balrog; 12) Dragon

The fairly clear intention here is to roll 3d6 x 10 to determine the number of Magic Points, and then roll 2d6 to determine the creature type.

So it seems quite likely that the Protection Point system was a flexible one. Arneson could:

  • Stock the dungeon with specific creatures (using the Protection Point system as a procedural content generator).
  • Quickly note “there should be X amount of protection in this room” (and then either specify it later or generate it during play).
  • Randomly stock the dungeon room by room during play.

However, there are still several points which I find confusing. You might notice the “(Magic)” values given in the key for the 7th level of the Blackmoor dungeons, for example. It’s unclear what this entry is supposed to be: In any single entry it might be interpreted as an empty room’s encounter budget, the total cost of the listed “protectors”, or an unspent number of “magic protection points” that is meant to be spent in addition to the listed protectors. But no explanation seems to satisfactorily explain all instances (and any given explanation I’ve ventured is frequently contradicted by one of the usages). My suspicion is that he actually had a point system for determining how many magic items were located in each room (similar to the point budget for monsters in each room), but if so there’s no surviving evidence of how it would have worked.

Based on the key, it’s also likely that Arneson had some method for generating “Wealth” values independently from the Protection Points, but it’s not detailed here. (I’m guessing it was not dissimilar from that described in OD&D: 1 in 3 chance for treasure in occupied room; 1 in 6 chance in unoccupied room. And then rolls on some associated treasure table based on the dungeon level.)

It’s also unclear whether Arneson used wandering monster checks in addition to these room stocking procedures. It seems likely, but whatever method he may have used isn’t detailed. (Note that the poorly described “Wandering Monster Area” quadrant system described in the First Fantasy Campaign is part of the revision done to the material for convention play.)

Arneson also mentions that he would intermittently create “Home Bases for the Orc Tribes” and “special treasure troves”. These appear to have been completely arbitrary in their creation, but he would randomly roll to determine which level of the dungeon they would be added to. (“Thus the upper levels would occasionally have quite powerful encounters.”) The special distinction of the “Home Bases for the Orc Tribes” (as opposed to lairs for other creatures) seems significant, but I’ve been unable to tease it out. (And it may be entirely illusory.) There were four orc tribes in the campaign: Red Eye Orcs, Orcs of the White Hand, Isengarders, and Orcs of the Mountains, but the only information given relates to outdoor adventures, and it’s unclear what their agenda/function within the Blackmoor dungeon would have been.

I’ll also admit that I stopped trying to make sense of Arneson’s key for Blackmoor when I realized that he had 32 dwarves keyed to a room that’s 20′ x 10′. In the lower levels, there’s a point where he keys “250 Dwarves (living quarters)” into a room 10′ x 40′ long. There’s clearly some method to the madness here, but it’s beyond my ability to figure it out.

Go to Arneson’s Machines

Back to Reactions to OD&D

IN THE SHADOW OF THE SPIRE

Session 13D: A Time of Tragic Rest

Joey

Poor puppy…

In my experience, there are very few immutable rules when it comes to being a Game Master: Something that would completely ruin one game might be the ultimate coup de grace in another, either because the mechanics are different, the setting is different, the players are different, or just because the situation is different.

But there is at least one truism: If you kill their pets, you are guaranteed an emotional response.

That response will almost certainly include anger, but it will also include anguish and guilt and regret. If you want the PCs to be motivated to seek vengeance, you’ll probably get more consistent results from knocking off Fido than you will from slasher-slaughtering their boyfriend.

Now, if the death of that pet is capricious or forced, then a lot of that anger can end up getting channeled at you. This is one of the advantages of cultivating a reputation of fairness and impartiality: If your players trust you not to just screw with them arbitrarily, then when the hammer comes down they’ll turn their emotional reaction into the fiction and it will deepen their immersion into the game. If they don’t trust you, then the emotional response will be channeled out of the game and damage their immersion.

You can see a fairly clean example of this in the current session: Elestra had been cavalierly sending her python viper into dangerous situations for several sessions, and that had now created a situation which (a) nearly got the entire party killed and (b) resulted in the python’s death.

Heated arguments. Recriminations. All of it turned inward. All of it focused on the relationships between the characters, and thus strengthening the reality and the significance of those relationships (fictional though they may be). Great stuff.

A slightly less clean example happened in my original Eternal Lies campaign. (No spoilers for the published campaign here.) One of the characters owned a horse. The bad guys killed the horse. In this case, I think largely because the event happened “off-screen” while the PCs were in a different country, there was more recrimination aimed at me as the GM. But it was a legitimate consequence: The PCs had let the bad guys identify them; the bad guys had sent them a warning. And that emotional burst was quickly turned back into the game and focused on those bad guys, adding fresh resolve to the investigators and what they were trying to accomplish.

(I will say, though, that I’m pretty convinced killing the horse evoked a bigger response than if I had chosen to target one of their other Sources of Stability – i.e., NPCs who are specifically important to them.)

Conversely, these strong emotional reactions around pets can also be inverted. For example, in the first 3rd Edition campaign I ever ran there was a time when the party got unexpectedly cut off inside a dungeon. By the time they’d managed to work their way back to the surface, they were fairly convinced that the pack animals they had left tied off – including their beloved steeds – would be dead. There was a fair amount of emotional dread and pre-guilt. Instead, they found their horses unharmed and surrounded by catastrophic devastation and a dozen or so dead bad guys.

Not only was the emotional relief a much-needed “win” at the end of a scenario which had unexpectedly taxed and stressed them in a number of ways, it also deepened their curiosity regarding the mystery of what exactly had happened while they were in the dungeon.

(This technique doesn’t work, of course, if everyone knows that their pets have plot armor and death immunity.)

You can get similar results by putting beloved pets in jeopardy, thus investing the sequence to rescue them with a heightened emotional tension. Although, once again, it’s important to remember that if the danger is capricious or forced, the reaction to it will be directed out of the game and instead reduce the stakes.

Her pet of long years – her last connection to her home in Seyrun – had been slain. Dominic laid a blessing upon the body that would preserve it for three days and nights, but there was nothing more that he could do for it.

Ptolus - In the Shadow of the Spire

IN THE SHADOW OF THE SPIRE

SESSION 13D: A TIME OF TRAGIC REST

December 16th, 2007
The 1st Day of Kadal in the 790th Year of the Seyrunian Dynasty

Dominic had watched the duel between Itarek and Morbion through a haze of dull pain and desperation. It was taking all the strength he could muster merely to keep Itarek on his feet, and he couldn’t understand why Morbion didn’t simply strike him down and ensure his victory.

When it was finally over and Itarek turned to weep over his comrades, Dominic turned to his own comrades and began the rites to heal their broken bodies.

When it was done, all of them – Dominic, Agnarr, Ranthir, Tee, Tor, and Elestra – were amazed to find themselves still alive. It had seemed to all of them that the catastrophe at the door would be their final folly.

But although they were alive, they were far from well. Their bodies were battered, bruised, and burned. Wounds still oozed fresh blood through crude bandages. Dominic had expended nearly all of their healing resources, and there were still the goblins to be healed.

An argument broke out at this. Elestra simply dismissed the goblins as a concern – they had decided that other grievously injured goblins were beyond the point that they could or should be saved, and these were no different. Tee agreed with her – without healing magic they might find it difficult or impossible to escape back to the safety of the clan caverns.

But Agnarr was adamant: If they had the ability to save the goblins, then the goblins must be saved. “Without them we would be dead.” He pointed to Itarek. “Without him we would all be dead.” (more…)

IN THE SHADOW OF THE SPIRE

Session 13C: The Tale of Itarek

This is not the first time that I’ve shared the Tale of Itarek here at the Alexandrian. Several years ago it appeared as a Tale From the Table. I was motivated to pluck this particular story out because of the great impression it had made on both myself and my gaming group. It was a truly significant event, and one which still lives large in our shared memory of the campaign more than a hundred sessions later.

I’ve been asked, in the past, about what the story behind the Tale of Itarek was. Sometimes these queries come colored with a clear subtext: Why did you plan for this to happen? And how did you manage to actually make it happen at the table?

If you’re familiar with literally everything else I’ve ever written about running a game, you probably won’t be shocked to discover that the answers are (a) I didn’t and (b) I didn’t.

There’s not really anything “hiding” behind the events depicted in the campaign journal: Elestra’s desperate need to save her python gave birth to the Tragedy at the Door, which saw the party get absolutely brutalized by Morbion’s area effect spells. (It’s pretty rare in classic D&D for me to see an enemy spellcaster get a chance to dump their entire spell list into the PCs; Morbion did it before taking any damage himself.) Poor skills mixed with unfortunate skill checks turned the rope into an impassable barrier, preventing the group from retreating. Their panic caused their communication and coordination to fall apart, allowing them to be picked off one by one.

When Dominic was the only character left, it wasn’t because I’d put my thumb on the scale. It was because everybody else had lost all their hit points. The campaign really was a hairsbreadth away from ending in a TPK, and the whole table knew it. You could have cut the tension with a knife.

So, no, I didn’t plan this.

I also wasn’t the one who came up with the idea of healing Itarek. That was Dominic. Dominic knew he had no chance at winning a duel with Morbion and no path of escape. He needed a champion, so he picked one from the limited options he had available to him.

I will take credit for having Itarek issue a formal challenge to Morbion. Without that particular point of inspiration on Itarek’s part, Morbion would have simply snuffed out Dominic and Itarek wouldn’t have lasted long.

That’s how these things work, right? Emergent narrative from the unexpected interstices of independent creative impulses.

(Couldn’t I have just decided to not have Morbion attack Dominc? Technically, yes. But in every important way, no.)

Once Itarek issued his challenge, the outcome still wasn’t certain. Dominic barely managed to keep Itarek on his feet from round to round by outpacing the damage Itarek was dealing out. (If Morbion still had his most powerful spells it would have gone differently; of course, if he still had his most powerful spells the party wouldn’t have been in this situation.)

Intriguingly, I have had two different people with reactions to this story ranging from irate to outright anger that I would “do this” to my players. “Bad form in any system”as one of them said.

Intriguing because, as I noted, my own players consider this one of the true highlights of the campaign. (And there are plenty of other people who can read this story and seem to appreciate what an awesome moment it was.) I think this reveals a fundamental difference in perception between players who have taken (and have had the opportunity to take) ownership of their actions versus those who are force fed material by the GMs. I’ve talked in the past about the penumbra of problems created by railroading techniques – the literally crippling weight that a GM is forced to carry when they take on sole responsibility for everything experienced by the PCs. This is an example of that: When faced with a situation that has gone pear-shaped, players who have taken responsibility for their own actions will become ecstatic and feel a great sense of achievement when they manage to work their way out of it. Those who have been conditioned to believe that the GM is feeding them pre-packaged content are likely to instead become upset that the GM has miscalculated and given them something “too tough” which knocked them all out of the action.

There’s some other version of this campaign where these two rooms and the handful of bad guys keyed to them are largely unremarkable. And that’s okay, because in that other version of the campaign there’s almost certainly some completely different moment which those other-dimensional versions of my players remember as being an incredible, never-rending crucible which, in this dimension’s version of the campaign, passed in a fairly pedestrian fashion.

One final peek “behind the campaign journal” here: Dominic doesn’t speak Goblin.  Since everyone else was unconscious, the players did not initially know what Itarek was saying to Morbion. Their exchange – clearly portentous and meaningful – was a mystery to them. It wasn’t until I wrote up the campaign journal (and a dramatic re-enactment of the scene at the beginning of the next session) that the full story of what had happened was revealed to the players.

I think that enigma may have played a small, but significant, role in why this particular moment lived large in their imaginations. Always leave them wanting more, right?

(Although the electric thrill of surviving a near-death experience shouldn’t be undervalued.)

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